in this month, in behalf of the manes of the deceased. The Saxons named February sprout-kele, on account of the sprouts of the cole-wort which began to appear in this month.

Remarkable Days

In FEBRUARY 1819.

*I. 1684.-ARCHBISHOP LEIGHTON died. He was in his 71st year, having been born at London in 1613, although educated at the University of Edinburgh, where his talents were not more conspicuous than his piety and humble temper. He had been accustomed to express a wish that he might die from home, and at an inn; and his desire was literally gratified, for he closed his long and exemplary life at the Bell, in Warwick Lane, London, far away from his relatives, whose distress, if present at so awful a period, he thought, might too greatly discompose his mind. Dr. Doddridge speaks of him as one of the most eminently devout and pious writers his age has produced :—his works are a treasure to the English language. They continually overflow with love to God, and breathe a heart entirely transformed by the gospel, above the views of every thing but pleasing Him.

2.-PURIFICATION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN

MARY.

This festival is of high antiquity, and the antient christians observed it by using a great number of lights; in remembrance, as it is supposed, of our blessed Saviour's being declared by Simeon to be a light to lighten the Gentiles; hence the name of Candlemas Day. This practice continued in England till the second year of Edward the Sixth, when Archbishop Cranmer forbade it by order of the then privy-council. The

Greeks call this festival Hypante, which signifies the meeting, because Simeon and Anna met our Lord in the Temple on this day. It is called • Christ's Presentation,' the Holiday of Saint Simeon,' and, in the north of England, the Wives' Feast-Day.'-See T. T. for 1814, p. 28, and for 1815, p. 43.

PORTUGUESE HYMN to the VIRGIN MARY.
[By John Leyden.]

Star of the wide and pathless sea,
Who lov'st on mariners to shine,
These votive garments wet to thee,
We hang within thy holy shrine.
When o'er us flushed the surging brine,
Amid the warring waters tost,

We called no other name but thine,
And hoped, when other hope was lost,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the vast and howling main,
When dark and lone is all the sky,
And mountain-waves o'er ocean's plain
Erect their stormy heads on high;
When virgins for their true loves sigh,
And raise their weeping eyes to thee,
The star of Ocean heeds their cry,
And saves the foundering bark at sea.
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the dark and stormy sea,
When wrecking tempests round us rave,

Thy gentle virgin form we see

Bright rising o'er the hoary wave.
The howling storms that seem to crave
Their victims, sink in music sweet;
The surging seas recede to pave
The path beneath thy glistening feet,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the desert waters wild,
Who pitying hears the seaman's cry
The God of mercy, as a child,

On that chaste bosom loves to lie;
While soft the chorus of the sky
Their hymns of tender mercy sing,
And angel voices name on high
The mother of the heavenly king,
Ave Maris Stella!

Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the mild and placid seas,

Whom rainbow rays of mercy crown,
Whose name thy faithful Portuguese
O'er all that to the depths go down,
With hymns of grateful transport own;
When gathering clouds obscure their light,
And heaven assumes an awful frown,
The star of Ocean glitters bright,
Ave Maris Stella!

Star of the deep! when angel lyres
To hymn thy holy name essay,
In vain a mortal harp aspires
To mingle in the mighty lay!
Mother of God! one living ray

Of hope our grateful bosoms fires

When storms and tempests pass away,
To join the bright immortal quires.
Ave Maris Stella!

3.-SAINT BLASE.

He was Bishop of Sebaste in Armenia, and suffered martyrdom in 316, under the persecution of Licinius, by command of Agricolaus, governor of Cappadocia and the Lesser Armenia. His festival is kept a holiday in the Greek church on the 11th of February. In the holy wars his relics were dispersed over the west, and his veneration was propagated by many miraculous cures, especially of sore throats. He is the principal patron of the commonwealth of Ragusa. No other reason than the great devotion of the people to this celebrated martyr of the church, seems to have given occasion to the woolcombers to choose him the titular patron of their profession; and his

D

festival is still kept by them at Norwich, and also at Doncaster, with a solemn guild. Perhaps the iron combs, with which he is said to have been tormented, gave rise to this choice. For

an account of the anniversaries of the different trades at Montpelier, in France, see T.T. for 1818, p. 29.

5.-SAINT AGATHA.

'The cities of Palermo and Catana dispute the honour of her birth: but they do much better, who, by copying her virtues, strive to become her fellow-citizens in heaven.' (Butler.) She suffered martyrdom under Decius, in the year 251.

7.-SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY.

The institution of this and the two following Sundays cannot be traced higher than the beginning of the sixth or the close of the fifth century. • When the words Septuagesima, Sexagesima, and Quinquagesima (seventieth, sixtieth, and fiftieth), were first applied to denote these three Sundays, the season of Lent had generally been extended to a fast of six weeks, that is, thirty-six days, not reckoning the Sundays, which were always celebrated as festivals.'-(Shepherd.)

*8. 1576.-ROBERT BURTON BORN,

The celebrated author of the Anatomy of Melancholy, a book full of all such reading as never was read,' and the only one which Dr. Johnson said would induce him to rise at six o'clock in the morning to peruse." The following lines by this author are thought to have suggested to Milton many ideas in his Il Penseroso.'

When I goe musing all alone

Thinking of divers things fore-known,
When I would build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow and void of fear,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet:
All my joys to this are folly,
Naught so sweet as Melancholy.

When I goe walking all alone,
Recounting what I have ill done,
My thoughts on me then tyrannise,
Fear and sorrow me surprise,
Whether I tarry still or go,

Methinks the time moves very slow:
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so sad as Melancholy.
When to my selfe I act and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
By a brook side or wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, or unseen,
A thousand pleasures doe me bless,
And crown my soul with happiness.
All my joyes besides are folly,
None so sweet as Melancholy.
When I lie, sit, or walk alone,
I sigh, I grieve, making great mone,
In a dark grove, or irksome den,
With discontents and furies then,
A thousand miseries at once
Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so sour as Melancholy.'

*8. 1817.—FRANCIS HORner, esq. m.p. died. This gentleman, at the age of thirty-eight, was cut off by a pulmonary consumption at Pisa, whither he had ineffectually removed for the recovery of his health. In regard to his talents, reputation, and integrity, it is sufficient to say, that the late Mr. Ponsonby frequently deferred to his judgment; and when that justly celebrated leader thought of retiring, he pointed out Mr. Horner as worthy to be his political successor. *9. 1815.-DR. CLAUDIUS BUCHANAN DIED, ÆT. 49.

With the name of Dr. Buchanan will ever be associated the cause of promoting Christianity in India. He was a rare instance of zeal, judg

See the remainder of this poem, prefixed to the Anatomy of Melancholy.'